


Pacific Highway

by wearethewitches



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awesome Charlie Swan, Bisexual Charlie Swan, Canon-Typical Violence, Car Accidents, Families of Choice, Family Bonding, Gen, Moving On, Multi, POV Charlie Swan, Polyamorous Character, Power Swap, Pre-Canon, Role Reversal, because he deserved better than still being in love with renee, bella is a brat, see our 'tached police dad fall in love and finally get over his ex-wife
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-09-27 06:44:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20403406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearethewitches/pseuds/wearethewitches
Summary: There are three things Charlie Swan is absolutely positive about:His daughter hates him.His best friend is showing a new side to himself that Charlie doesn't like.And his crush on the new married couple in Forks, Carlisle and Esme Cullen, is completely out of control.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline Tweaks:  
\- the Cullen's came to Forks a year earlier, in 2002 instead of 2003  
\- Billy Black hasn't lost the use of his legs yet
> 
> (will add as appropriate)

Every day, Charlie Swan, police officer for Forks Police Department, wakes up to the shrill beeping of his alarm clock at seven am. On the first Thursday of June, two thousand and two, no different from usual, Charlie clicks off the buzzer and gets out of bed, unaware that this normal, cloudy day in Forks, Washington, will change the course of his life.

It starts with a fist-fight.

“Really, kids?” Charlie sighs over his notebook, watching the two teenage boys look pointedly away from each other from where they sit on top separate hospital pallets. “What was it about? A girl? Someone stole someone’s lunch money?”

“Nothing happened,” one says, wincing as he shifts about, ribs obviously giving him some trouble. Charlie would feel sympathy for him, had there not been property damage involved – the grocery store had called after the ambulance had arrived, complaining about a broken window. Seeing the gauze-covered back of the second boy, Charlie guesses that someone being thrown at it might be the cause.

“I need a statement, boys – and then I’ll be talking to your parents.”

“I’m eighteen,” the second boy with the bleeding back mutters. Inwardly, Charlie swears, outwardly containing his displeasure to a grimace.

“Alright. That changes some things. Has a doctor seen you, yet?”

“Just a nurse,” the first replies.

“Alright,” Charlie repeats, nodding, “I’ll just be a minute.”

But, when he turns around with the intention to ask an actual doctor to see them so he can get a report, Charlie comes face to face with the most beautiful man he’s laid eyes on. Like a young god, his features are flawless and eye-catching, an otherworldly glow to his pale skin and ash-blonde hair. It takes Charlie a moment to stop gaping, clearing his throat with a cough as he glances down at the nametag on his lab-coat.

_DR. C. CULLEN, M.D._

“Uh, hi…Dr Cullen,” Charlie stumbles over his words, “Are- are you attending to these hooligans?”

Dr Cullen gives Charlie a respectful nod, a small smile pulling at his thin lips. With a jolt, Charlie realises his eyes are a bright golden colour, one very unusual, that Charlie has never seen before on a person – except during Halloween, that is.

“Officer Swan,” Dr Cullen says, accent different from the usual Washingtonian drawl Charlie’s used to – he’d clearly seen Charlie’s own nametag, pinned to his jacket. “I’ll be seeing to these boys, yes. You’re expecting a report, I expect.”

Charlie clears his throat. “Verbal will do for now. If you could get the paperwork sent down to the station when you’ve got the time, it’d be appreciated.”

Dr Cullen’s smile is drool-worthy. “Of course, Officer. Now-” he turns to the boys, turning a little more serious – more professional. “Who wants to go first? The nurse says one of you might have cracked ribs.”

“That’s me.”

Charlie watches Dr Cullen attend to the boys, nearly forgetting to note down their most relevant injuries when the hot medical man starts listing them out loud. _Hot medical man._ Charlie can’t help but think in silent horror, _Jesus, I’m already gone._ He can feel the crush already growing in his chest, a little sigh ready to escape him at the sight of Dr Cullen’s perfect face.

When the two boys are finished with, Dr Cullen moves aside with Charlie, who trails after him briefly as they step into the hallway of the Emergency Ward.

“Are you new to town? I’ve never seen you, before.” Charlie blurts out, only the knowledge that conversations can start in worse ways stopping him from blushing, both in embarrassment and in regret.

Dr Cullen, if he senses Charlie’s awkwardness, doesn’t show it, only nodding casually. “Indeed, I am – my family and I just moved from Alaska.”

“Family?” Charlie repeats, feeling an inappropriate amount of disappointment rising in his chest. Charlie chastises himself. _Of course he’s got a family, looking like that._

“Yes. My wife and I used to live with our cousins, near Mount Denali,” Dr Cullen tells him, “but it was getting a little crowded, since we adopted our last child.”

“Adoption – how many you got?”

Dr Cullen flashes him a winning smile, one tinged with mischief. “Five.”

“_Five?_” Charlie gawks, “Wow, _five…_I’ve just got one, myself. Bella.”

“Esme and I took in her niece and nephew, Jasper and Rosalie, when their parents passed away,” Dr Cullen says, listing them off with fondness and a touch sadness. Charlie dips his head in silent acknowledgement, which Dr Cullen mirrors. “Then there’s Edward, my son from a previous relationship, whom I took custody of when his mother and stepfather died in a car crash. Alice and Emmett came to us from the foster-system. Miraculously, our children are all around the same age – it makes for a chaotic household.”

“I could imagine,” Charlie replies, a comfortable pause letting him absorb the information so freely handed to him. A small, harmless suspicion rises. “Hey, you’re not telling me all that so I can go gossiping, are you?”

“Please, do what you like – we’d rather live quietly.” Dr Cullen shrugs his question off, not really answering him. Charlie eyes him.

“Well,” he says, deciding that as soon as he gets home, he’s going to completely disregard his crush on Dr Cullen, “It’s nice to meet you, Dr Cullen.”

“Carlisle.”

“…Carlisle,” Charlie mutters, offering his hand. “Charlie.”

Dr Cullen’s hand wraps around his own, surprising him by how cool his skin is. They shake once, grasp lingering for a moment before Charlie coughs and takes his hand back, stuffing it in his pocket. He unwillingly shuffles back and forth, desire to continue talking to Dr Cullen – to _Carlisle_ – warring with his need to do his duty as a cop.

As it always does, duty wins out.

“I’ll see you round,” he grunts, turning on his heel and striding out of the Emergency Ward. His determination to squash his crush only increases when he glances back in time to see Carlisle pushing his lab-coat back to tuck his hands in his pockets, flashing Charlie the brief image of his arse neatly encircled by tight trousers.

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit_.

“Definitely not,” Charlie mumbles to himself, making his way over to the police cruiser. He fumbles with his keys, but any clumsiness evaporates as his instincts prickle, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. Charlie slows down, breathing in deeply as he opens his car door, doing a casual sweep of the parking lot.

On first glance, nothing is out of place. But as he steps into the cruiser, still on high alert, Charlie sees someone walking towards the Emergency Ward, pace fast and their shoulders hunched. _Is that a kid?_ Charlie asks himself, squinting slightly as he notes their basic description to himself. _Caucasian, red-brown hair…_

He wonders why they set him off and why they were watching him – _were they watching him? _– only to see them heading back the way they came. Their stride is slower, now – _his_ stride is slower. Charlie peers at the boy, realising he doesn’t recognise them in the slightest.

Charlie looks around the parking lot again, wanting to make sure he’s not missing anyone else; but when he looks back, the boy is gone, completely disappeared from his line of sight. Charlie hums darkly to himself in thought – but really, what kind of teenager in Forks gets into serious trouble? The most he deals with are punks like the ones in the Emergency Ward, who drink and get into fights with each other. They’re rural enough they don’t even get burglary reports more than a few times a year.

His car radio spits. “_Swan, this is Braker, you there? Over._”

Charlie snaps out of his thoughts, reaching for the radio. “Braker, this is Swan. What’s up?” He waits for Braker’s reply, starting up the cruiser.

“_We’ve got someone here, saying they’ve dropped their firearm out of a boat while fishing. You’re a fisher, right? You know how those rivers run._”

The police officer raises his eyebrows, pausing dramatically. “Braker. Are you serious?”

“_Sure am, Swan. Chief’s wanting you on this._”

“Right, well I’ll be sure to put on my ‘women love me, fish fear me’ hat,” Charlie says sarcastically. “I’m on my way. Over and out.”

“_Over and out. See you soon, Swan._”

“Yeah, yeah, get off the radio.” Charlie rolls his eyes before hanging up his receiver, making his way out of the lot.

Later, he tells Billy the whole story over a beer, the man over to watch a rerun of the latest season of _Firefly_. Billy Black, his best friend for the majority of his life – and he’s turning forty next year, so that’s really saying something about how long they’ve known each other – cackles over it all, teasing him over his fishing habits.

“Like you’ve got any room to talk,” Charlie grouses, “you fish more often than I do, nature-boy.”

“Ah, but I’m Native, I’m _meant_ to be in tune with the world,” says Billy in a faux-sage tone, like he isn’t the Chief of the Quileute Tribe. Charlie snorts, chucking him another beer as the man chuckles. “Say,” Billy starts, then, “meet anyone new today?”

Charlie raises an eyebrow. “How’d you guess?”

“I’m lucky,” Billy says mysteriously, but his eyes are locked on Charlie like he already knows the answer – he just wants Charlie to say it.

Frowning slightly, Charlie tells him. “New doctor in town,” he says, unease forgotten a moment later as he makes an addendum. “_Hot_ new doctor in town.”

“The Quileute’s are no friends to the Cullen’s, Charlie.”

Charlie looks up so fast he gets whiplash. “Why would you say that, Billy? Carlisle seemed like a nice guy.”

Billy’s smile is flat. “I’d stay away from them, if I were you. They’re bad news.”

A spark of anger lights up inside of him. “What has he ever done to you?”

“Existed.”

Charlie’s lip twists and he speaks hotly. “He’s a nice guy. He’s got a wife and kids. You can’t go around saying shit like that, Billy – why the hell does him _existing_ bother you so much?”

“It’s not me, it’s the tribe,” Billy says, before getting to his feet, putting the unopened beer down on the coffee table. “I should go. Stay away from the Cullen’s, Charlie.”

“Try and stop me,” Charlie barks, glaring at his old friend. “I’ve never seen you like this, before and I don’t like it.”

Billy has the gall to look sad. “I’ve always been like this, Charlie.”

“Well, never in front of me,” Charlie replies, looking to the television. He doesn’t look at Billy. “You should go, like you said.”

“Yeah. I should.” Billy leaves and Charlie doesn’t watch him go, consumed by his confusion and his hurt. Why was his best friend being so hostile? What the hell did he mean by, _it’s the tribe?_ Charlie has never known Billy to use the tribe as his excuse before, unless he was referring to tribe secrets. Charlie understands not being able to know those. He understands his pain at being kept out, there.

But this? This makes no sense.

_Maybe it’s another Cullen. Maybe- maybe there’s an actual Cullen tribe, out there_, Charlie thinks, though he doubts it. ‘Cullen’ isn’t exactly a Native word, he doesn’t think, at least – and Billy’s tribe originates from New Mexico, anyway, from before they were rounded up and shoved on the Reserve by colonisers. Their language has Spanish influences in their vocabulary.

And ‘Cullen’ doesn’t sound Spanish, either.

Shaking his head, Charlie tries to push away his hurt over Billy’s sudden change in character. He’s not going to just keep away from the Cullen family. He won’t run across the street, if he sees them coming on his way to get groceries.

“…fuck, I need food.” Charlie hauls himself up from the couch at the realisation, going to the kitchen to check his fridge. He’d planned to get takeout with Billy tonight, but there’s no point, if he isn’t sharing. Like he thought, his fridge is empty. He shuts it softly, sighing as he picks up his keys again.

Leaving the door unlocked behind him, Charlie takes the cruiser out into town, taking out a twenty from his wallet to put himself on a budget. He wanders through the aisles, picking out what he knows he can make – tinned soup, plain vegetables to boil, eggs and bacon, bread, milk – and hesitates in the frozen section before muttering a quiet _fuck it_ and getting ice-cream.

Juggling his items – and cursing himself for not getting a basket – Charlie heads to the check-out, queuing behind a woman with glossy auburn hair. One of his soup tins starts to shift precariously and he tilts, attempting to keep everything upright.

“No, no, no, no…” he mutters to himself as the eggs start to slide. His mutter turns into a frustrated whisper. “No, don’t move!”

In front of him, the woman glances back, stunning Charlie briefly at her beauty. Around Renee’s height – so, barely up to his shoulder – she has a heart-shaped face and soft, rounded cheeks. Her whole description could be written with that word. _Soft._ Charlie’s reminded of Grace Kelly, if Grace Kelly had brown eyes and an air about her like a goddamn fairy.

“Are you having trouble?” She asks him, turning around and reaching up in time to lift the eggs from his Tower of Pisa. Without them to worry about, Charlie manages to right himself, watching the woman reach up again to put his top two purchases down on the conveyer. “Here.”

“Thanks,” Charlie says, clearing his throat as he starts helping her with his own groceries. When they’re done laying them on the conveyer – the person in front of them far from done packing – the woman reaches across to grab a divider, setting it between each of their purchases. Charlie notices how she only has cleaning products, no food at all, not even gum.

“Emergency shop, huh?” she asks him. Charlie blinks rapidly, nodding sharply.

“Yeah.” He says, a bit abrupt. “Uh, yes, I mean. What about you? Someone spill their wine, or something?”

The woman glances back at her own purchases, humming in amusement. “More like they spray-painted their brother’s baby grand,” she says, as if this isn’t an unusual occurrence. Charlie blinks again, floundering.

“Baby grand?” he eventually asks.

“My son, Emmett decided at some point during the move to vandalise his brother’s piano,” she elaborates in good humour, “and now, I am buying cleaning products, so Emmett can clean up the mess he made without damaging it.”

Something in Charlie’s mind _pings_, recognising the name. “Emmett,” he mutters, thinking about the only kids he’s been introduced to lately by word of mouth. “Cullen?”

The woman looks to him in surprise. “You know us?”

Charlie hesitates, before making a guess. “I think I met your husband, today,” he says quietly, nervous. Is this _Esme?_

Her expression lights up. “Charlie Swan? He said you talked, today.” She reaches out with both hands, taking one of his own and squeezing. “I’m Esme Cullen, his wife. It’s lovely to meet you, Charlie.”

“You too,” Charlie says, despite how his crush for Carlisle suddenly increases tenfold. _He talked about me to his wife,_ he thinks.

Esme laughs quietly. Charlie feels like the Cullen’s are a happy family, so far – graffitied piano, aside. “What’s it like, here in Forks? It seems like forever since we’ve lived somewhere without snow.”

“What’s your opinion on rain?” Charlie jokes, lip twitching beneath his moustache. Esme is like an angel when she smiles and it takes Charlie a moment too long to realise he’s got a crush on her, too. _Aw, hell._

“We’re campers, in our family. Any excuse to hike through the wilderness,” Esme reveals, “so the rain might be a good idea. Keep us from disappearing forever into the woods.”

“I’d get a search party on for you, don’t worry,” says Charlie, surprising himself at how heavy his words feel. He _would_ get a search party on for them and he’d miss them, if they moved.

_Jesus Christ, Swan. Get your head together._

“That’s sweet.” Esme glances back at where their neighbour is paying for their purchases, finally. Together, the two shuffle further up the line, leaving room for the customer behind them. Charlie dips his head in apology to the elderly woman he recognises as Mrs Newton.

“Ma’am.”

“Officer Swan – and who’s this?” Mrs Newton squints down at Esme, clearing her by at least a foot. “You seem familiar.”

“Esme Cullen,” greets Esme, voice unusually cautious. “My family is new to town.”

“Huh. _Cullen._ There used to be another family of Cullen’s in the area, when I was young. Strange family.” Mrs Newton shakes her head, looking to Charlie. “What happened to the store window, Officer?”

“Just two ruffians, Mrs Newton. It’s all sorted, now.”

Mrs Newton sniffs disparagingly. “I should hope so. I don’t want whoever did that anywhere near our store, do you hear me, Officer Swan?”

“Popular, are you?” He hears Esme murmur. Mrs Newton, despite her advanced age, obviously hears her too, because she scoffs.

“Popular? Officer Swan is a shoe-in for Chief of Police, once Reggie finally pops off. I went to school with that man.” Mrs Newton straightens her necklace, slightly distant as she mutters, “He needs to retire, before he dies in his sleep and leaves Forks in shambles.”

“Chief’s far from done,” Charlie protests.

Mrs Newton pats his shoulder, slightly mocking. “Of course, Officer. He’s completely fine.” Mrs Newton doesn’t even have the shame to hide how she winks at Esme behind his back, leaving Charlie to silently curse the elderly population of Forks, Washington.

“Oh, my turn,” Esme then says, Charlie turning around to see the cashier scanning her items. All too soon, her things are packed and paid for, the auburn-haired woman sending him a quick smile and wave before departing. Charlie watches her go, left feeling bereft.

“Pretty woman. Shame she’s married – you’re smitten, Swan,” Mrs Newton says to him. Charlie closes his eyes. “So what _really_ happened to that window?”

“Just two boys, Mrs Newton. Nothing else,” sighs Charlie.

When he gets home, he digs right into his ice-cream, not even bothering with dinner. His mind is consumed with thoughts of the Cullen’s – of Carlisle’s gentle smile, of Esme’s soft hair – and he wants to cry, he feels so alone. Why couldn’t he have a crush on a normal person? On someone _single_ and _average_. He remembers his relationship with Renee with the same pain that comes from having a hot iron poker shoved in your chest.

Charlie is halfway through his bucket of vanilla when the phone rings. He grumbles, getting up and cursing whoever is calling him on one of his few evenings off – up until he sees the number on the electronic screen. In an instant, his ice-cream is abandoned and he brings the phone to his ear.

“Swan,” he says, waiting with bated breath.

“_Charlie,_” Bella greets quietly, like it isn’t suddenly the most confusing thing he’s ever heard.

“What- what?” Charlie blinks. “‘Charlie’?”

Bella huffs over the phone, sounding frustrated. “_I don’t want to come to Forks this summer._”

When Charlie’s parents slowly lost their minds to dementia, they’d said a lot of things that upset him. Usually, the most upsetting stuff was when they couldn’t remember who he was – or worse, each other. It had hurt him in the most visceral way, slapping him across the face and getting right under all those walls he’d learnt to build in reaction to pain.

He reacts to Bella’s words with a wounded noise, not wanting to believe her. “No, Bells…you’re not serious.”

“_Really serious,_” she says and he can hear the angry tone to her voice. “_Mom said if I was serious, I could tell you myself. We fought over it. I don’t want to come to Forks for the summer. It’s rainy and I hate it; I hate the travelling and it’s not worth it, in the long run._”

“Bella,” Charlie grasps at thin air, feeling like all his insides have just been pulled out, organ by organ. “That can’t be true.”

“_It’s true. I don’t want to come. I’m sorry if that upsets you,_” she says, but there is no apology to her tone, just young, teenage stubbornness. “_It’s for the best, Charlie._”

“Dad,” says Charlie, who quakes in his boots. “I’m your dad, Bells. Don’t call me Charlie.”

“_I don’t call Renee ‘mom’ to her face a lot, either. Don’t take it personally._”

“I’ll take it as personally as I like,” he argues, feeling the first stirrings of anger, “I’m your dad, Isabella Marie. You don’t get to call me by my first name.”

“_Fine,_” she says, before adding in a snippy, goading tone that Charlie has always hated – has always recognised belongs to a Renee at her worst, “_Officer Swan._”

He sees red. “Isabella-” he barely gets two syllables of her name out before the dial tone rings out. Charlie stars at the receiver. She’d hung up on him. Bella, his fourteen year old daughter, had blatantly disrespected him, practically _cut ties_ with him and then had the audacity to hang up without so much as a goodbye.

Charlie puts the phone down in the receiver with a clunk, the heavy plastic silent once it’s settled down. He stands there in the entryway of his house, the house that he bought for Renee and Bella, only a scant half-block from his childhood home, with dark, wood-panel walls and kitchen cabinets painted yellow for the sun.

_Bella’s not coming to see me._

Charlie Swan has not seen his daughter in a year. He had expected her to come and live with him for a month, like she did every summer since she was nine – she was supposed to arrive next week. He trembles, standing there in his house that tastes like bittersweet memories, wondering what he did wrong.

The phone rings. He picks it up immediately, hearing Renee’s familiar babbling as he presses it to his ear.

“_Oh god, Charlie, I’m so sorry, honey. Bella’s just going through a phase, I’m sure she’ll feel so guilty tomorrow-_”

“Renee,” Charlie cuts in, pained, “What happened? Why doesn’t she want to come to Forks?”

Renee is unusually quiet, at that. “_Charlie,_” she starts, hesitant, confirming his worst fears. “_She loves Arizona._”

“Fuck, she hates me, doesn’t she?” Charlie rubs at his teary eyes. “Shit. _Shit_, Renee – what did I do? Is it just her being a teenager or am I a crap dad? Is this because we only see each other in summer?”

“_Oh, honey,_” Renee croons and he can imagine her with the phone pressed to her face with two hands. Charlie can’t help but cry, letting out a loud sob. “_Honey, no, shh – you’re not a crap dad, you love Bella so much. That’s more than a lot of dads, Charlie._”

“She- she’s still not coming, though,” sniffs Charlie. “She’s not coming next week.”

“_No, she isn’t,_” Renee confirms. “_She won’t let me book flights for her. Hell, she stole her passport so I couldn’t make a reservation. I don’t think we can make anything happen this summer, Charlie. I’m sorry._”

“No,” Charlie wipes thoroughly at his face, so hard it hurts. “No, don’t be sorry. It’s Bella’s choice. I just…I just wish…”

“_If she hasn’t gotten over it,_” Renee approaches carefully, “_maybe you could come see her, instead. It’d be nice if you got out of Washington, for once. Take a holiday. Why don’t you surprise her and come visit? You could sleep on the couch!_”

Charlie wants so badly to say yes. He aches for his daughter, to hug her and see her in person, even if it means feeling that guilt over how much he’s missed, how much she’s grown – _especially_ if it means feeling that. But he thinks of the gossip around town, of how he’s the shoe-in for Chief; people trust and rely on him, expect him to be here.

And it’s not like Bella wants to see him, anyway.

“It’s too short-notice.” His voice is curt as he recovers his composure, putting on a solemn mask that always gets Renee to back off. He can hear it in her reproachful reply, how she recognises it and recoils.

“_You could at least try, Charlie._”

“Next year,” he promises, “and the next year, and the next. If Bella won’t visit, I’ll come to her. I won’t lose her to teenage rebellion.”

“_To be fair, Charlie – it’s not like Forks is very welcoming to young girls,_” says Renee.

_And there it is,_ Charlie thinks, hand curling hard around the phone. “Forks is a good town. If either of you learned to appreciate it, I’d be surprised. I’ll talk to you another time, Renee.”

“_Charlie-”_ she starts, but Charlie takes inspiration from Bella and hangs up before she can get another word in. He ignores it when it rings, picking up his half-melted tub of ice-cream and returning to the living room, turning on his TV set. He puts the volume up so loud that he’s sure the neighbours would complain, if he weren’t a cop.

The phone rings over and over, until it finally stops. Charlie doesn’t know whether to cry or be relieved. Savagely shoving ice-cream into his mouth, the police officer determinedly watches the women’s basketball game that’s on, trying and failing not to think about Bella – of his little girl who hates him, who hates Forks and doesn’t want to see him.

It’s safe to say that he doesn’t succeed.


	2. Chapter 2

One week later, Billy is in a car accident.

It is the second car accident in the family. The first had killed Billy’s wife – and Rachel, Rebecca and Jacob’s mother – only a few years ago and Charlie had helped his best friend through it, often coming down to the Reservation and joining forces with Harry Clearwater to get him out of the house and get the kids to go to school.

When the news comes in, Charlie is the first one to go to the hospital, hurrying up to the Emergency Ward reception and asking where Billy is.

The nurse, a woman Charlie usually sees jogging every morning, frowns at her computer, brows knitting together as she searches for a patient.

“He should have come through Emergency just now,” Charlie elaborates, eyes locked on her. “He might not even have arrived.”

A determined expression crosses her face. “I’ll check with the ambulance,” she says, nails clacking against the keys. Charlie waits, tense, regretting how they argued and ignored each other this past week.

Focused on the nurse that he is, Charlie immediately sees when the first strain of worry crosses her face.

“What?” barks Charlie, on edge.

“They’re refusing treatment here at Forks General,” she says quickly, eyes roving the screen, “Two patients in critical condition, one with a spinal injury and the other with a crushed side. Six other non-critical injuries. I’m sorry, Chief – I can’t tell who’s who, but you’ll be able to find out by going to the Rez Clinic. They’re congregating there, while the two critical-condition patients are being driven out to Port Angeles, ASAP.”

Gasping, Charlie nods, barely getting out a hurried _thank-you_ before he’s returning to his car, frightened and confused. Why would they refuse treatment at Forks General? The Rez folk are on good terms with the hospital – Charlie can’t remember any time in his life where the hospital ever did something that the tribe perceived as awful or degrading. The hospital shaved barely any hair off the head of Harry Clearwater’s father when he had brain cancer and needed surgery, sensitive to the tribe’s beliefs and rules.

_Long hair is important,_ Charlie thinks in an almost dazed manner, wondering why he’s focusing on such an inane detail about tribal life when his friend could be in mortal peril.

He drives to La Push. The speed he goes at is five miles below the limit – he’s on autopilot, focused on the road in front of him and on getting there safely. Charlie can’t help the tribe or himself if he gets into an accident, too.

On the edge of town, he spies Jacob with his friends doing fancy flips off a wall, a monstrously muscled teen without a shirt climbing up on top of a shed roof even as he watches. Charlie can’t help himself. He stops, rolling his window down to call out to them.

“Get down from there, right now!”

The boy – who must be on steroids – looks his way, grin dying out as he spies the cruiser. Swiftly, he climbs down, jogging forwards with the pack of boys at his heels. As he gets closer, Charlie is startled to find that he recognises him.

“Sam Uley?”

“Officer Swan,” Sam dips his head and Charlie takes a moment to stare, before shaking himself out of it, looking past Sam – _horrendously muscled Sam who Charlie needs to stop looking at because he’s sixteen and really, awkwardly hot, now; awkward for Charlie, that is and freaky as hell_ – to where Jacob blends in with his fellow Quileutes.

“Jacob, your father was just in an accident,” says Charlie, the fourteen year old boy blanching along with his fellows. Charlie makes a split-second decision, jerking his head to the passenger’s side-door. “I’ll give you a ride.”

Jacob wastes no time, bounding forwards and practically leaping over the hood of the vehicle in his haste. Charlie doesn’t blame him, only nodding tersely to Sam and the other teens, at last minute catching sight of Leah Clearwater amongst them as he drives off.

“What happened, Uncle Charlie?” Jacob asks, like it isn’t a knife to the gut to hear that name now, of all times.

“Car crash. It’s all I know,” Charlie claims, though he thinks on how none of the people are getting treated at Forks General; about how two critically injured tribesmen are being sped towards Port Angeles at this very moment.

If it’s any worse than what it sounds, then they’ll be helicoptered to Seattle – which will be quite the financial burden on the Reservation. Already, Charlie is thinking of how he can save money this year to donate to his friends, salary paying alright and his savings larger than usual from not having to pay for Bella.

And to think, Charlie’s shocked at Jacob still calling him _uncle._

“Where did it happen? Was it at the cliff?”

“In town,” Charlie murmurs and then they see it: the Chevy upside down and halfway into the school gym, the wreck of a motorbike and another vehicle that Charlie thinks belongs to Billy’s neighbour, Kwati. Charlie slows the cruiser down briefly, taking in the image alongside Jacob. It’s horrifying to see – to think of Billy being thrown out of the truck or worse, rattled around inside the cab like a pinball machine.

“The hospital said they were being taken to the Clinic.”

Jacob looks at him in confusion. “What? Why the Clinic? Why not Forks General?”

“Don’t look at me, kid – your dad is the one refusing. Him and all the others who were hurt. Quiet down. We’ll get there in a minute.”

It takes less than a minute. The roads are practically empty, people already parked up and sat in circles with the hurt and shocked in the Clinic entrance and waiting room. Charlie can see two patched heads, one broken arm and a kid who’s too young to the have road rash turning her face bloody.

“Where’s my dad?” Jacob calls out, before Rachel and Rebecca appear out of the crowd, drawing him into their arms. “Becca? Rach? Where’s dad? Where is he?”

The twins are sixteen and frantic, their faces identical to when their mother died. They burst into tears and Charlie steps up at the same time as Quil Ateara IV, the fourth man to Charlie, Billy and Harry’s crusade. It was always up for debate over who was the tagalong, when they were young: Quil or Charlie?

Quil sees Charlie and the expression on his face causes Charlie to realise the answer to that question. Half is indifference – and half is the clear message of _go away_. Charlie stands mere inches from Jacob’s back as Quil pulls Rebecca and Rachel away from their brother, making a tiny circle as he speaks slowly and clearly, explaining the situation.

“Your dad is alive, Jake, but it’s going to be touch and go until they get him help, in Port Angeles,” Quil says. “Nancy was on her motorbike and lost control when a bird flew in her way. Billy knew what would happen if he hit her and it was a stack of dominoes from there. Nancy still got hit by another car – Kwati Brown’s – and she’s on her way to Port Angeles as well. They don’t think she’ll make it.”

_Fuck,_ Charlie listens on in horror. Nancy Clearwater is Sue’s daughter from a previous marriage, adopted by Harry when she was a toddler. _Fuck,_ he thinks again, realising that he should have picked up Leah from Jacob’s little group as well; her sister is dying and she doesn’t even know.

“Your dad broke his spine in the crash. They don’t know the extent of the damage.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Jacob asks, throat high-pitched and full of unshed tears. Charlie can see him shaking, wanting for comfort, but Quil’s arms are already busy with his sisters.

Charlie steps up to the plate, damning anything that Quil or Billy have to say. Jacob needs someone right now. So, stepping forwards, he draws Jacob into a tight, sideways hug, his wrists immediately being grabbed as Jacob presses into his chest, bursting into tears.

“It’ll be alright. Billy’s strong – he’ll come out of this,” Charlie says, not realising that he’s repeating what he said to Billy back when Sarah was the one in the ambulance, until it’s already too late. He meets eyes with Quil, realising that he’s fucked up. Rachel clearly remembers, because everything goes to shit mere seconds later.

Charlie ends up dragging Jacob outside, rubbing circles on his back like he’s a small child. The Black family haven’t had good luck with vehicles. Charlie doubts that they’ll ever be able to get back in the Chevy without feeling traumatised. He can remember when Billy’s kids were little, climbing in and out of the cab with tiny figurines, sitting all buckled up in a line, two to a seatbelt. Billy would ride in the back, while Sarah drove.

They were happy.

“Is Dad going to die?”

“No,” Charlie immediately says, closing his eyes at the shit that comes out of his mouth at times like these. “I don’t know,” he corrects himself, rubbing extra-hard after Jacob shudders in horror.

“Where would we live? Who’s going to look after us?” asks Jacob, word-vomit escaping him in his fear. “Do we get to stay on the Rez? Will we live with Uncle Harry?”

“Shh, calm down, kid.” Charlie instructs him, taking his shoulder and leaning down to Jacob’s eye-level. Miraculously, Jacob manages to focus on him, their gazes meeting as Charlie preps himself for a mini speech. He decides that answering Jacob’s questions first will help. “You’ll live on the Rez. Taking you would be illegal, because you’re part of a tribe that’s getting smaller by the day. I’d be taking part in a cultural genocide if I did.”

“Will we live with Uncle Harry?”

Charlie makes a pained face, thinking of Nancy. “No, kid. Not- not with Nance.”

Jacob’s face screws up. “Then who?”

“Your sisters are sixteen, so you’ll get to stay in your house, probably. People will visit you every day, every morning and night. You’ll go to school like normal – and I’ll drive you to Port Angeles myself to visit your dad,” Charlie promises.

“You will?”

“I will,” he confirms, before wrapping his arms around Jacob once more. He’s just a kid and it shows. He’s not like Bella – Bella, who’d gladly give up her relationship with Charlie out of blind, teenage pettiness. Jacob knows what it’s like to lose a parent already.

Charlie just hopes he won’t lose both.

* * *

In a house in the middle of the woods, several miles from Forks, but close enough that the drive isn’t extensive, Jasper Whitlock sits beside his wife reading a book. The book itself is not important – in fact, Jasper isn’t even reading it, too intrigued by Alice’s fluctuating emotions as she focuses on the various futures laid out in front of them.

A spark of confusion from his wife lights interest in him. Jasper asks her, “What are you seeing?”

“An addition to the family,” Alice says quietly, staring at nothing – yet staring at everything. Jasper does not know how to describe his wife’s power aloud while keeping true to the descriptive rainbow of explanation he knows lives in his mind. Like branches of a tree – or every snowflake in a storm, different and unique every time.

Of course, sometimes Alice is hit with visions of the immediate future that they can rarely change without serious input. Those are the worst, but of greatest importance; Jasper personally hates them the most, always worried about how it makes Alice feel. When she can’t change them in time, her despair is deep. It is not like this moment, where she stares into the abyss of time and sees multiple narratives, fleeting and unable to affect her as badly as those of the immediate future.

“You’ve said that before,” he reminds her. “You’re going to meet your best friend here, eventually.”

“Eventually, but things are changing again,” whispers Alice. “Paths are steadying. Her father has met Carlisle and Esme – he’s the centre of everything.”

Jasper’s forehead creases. “How can they be steadying if things are in flux?”

She smiles wanly, leaning into his shoulders, murmuring. “My best friend is definitely coming to Forks, eventually. That’s set in stone. But her father…the difference is adding him to the family first or not. I don’t know what to do, Jas.”

“What _can_ you do?” He replies, trying to guide her as best he can. Rubbing circles on her back, Jasper presses his lips to her hair, waiting. There is a low burn to his throat. _I should go hunting_, he thinks.

Eventually, Alice hums happily, blinking out of her own head. “I’m going to get a job,” she proclaims, like it isn’t the strangest thing he’s heard from her in months.

“You’re what now, darlin’?”

His faerie wife lets out a high-pitched giggle and downstairs, Jasper hears Emmett ask, _“Why would you get a job? We’re going to school, not pretending to be adults yet_.”

“A part-time job,” Alice elaborates happily, “at the grocery store! We’re going to get a new dad.”

To himself, Jasper thinks it a very good thing that both Esme and Carlisle are out of the house right now, Carlisle setting into his job and Esme establishing herself in the community. Within moments, their siblings have invaded their room, Edward uncomfortably close as he stares down at Alice, with Rosalie and Emmett in the doorway.

“What the hell do you mean, we’re getting a new dad?” Rosalie fumes, eyes bright with anger and uncertainty. “Carlisle and Esme are mates.”

“There’s room for one more,” Alice chastises, grinning at Edward. Jasper senses his confusion, though it doesn’t match Emmett or Rosalie’s for strength. Their mind-reading brother steps back and away, hovering nearer the window, absorbed in what he saw in Alice’s head.

“How is you getting a job going to help, Allie?” Emmett questions, worried. His arm wraps around Rosalie’s shoulders in comfort. Jasper isn’t sure who it’s for. “Isn’t it up to Mom and Dad?”

“It is,” admits Alice, tilting her head slightly. “But we can help it along. It can go either way at this point. I want to get to know him, though. Wouldn’t it be nice? Carlisle and Esme are perfect for each other, but he can slide in so, so…”

“Easily?” Jasper guesses. Alice sighs, as if the very prospect is swoon-worthy. He can feel her contentment and her simple excitement, her _want_ for more family clear. She wants to be surrounded by those she loves and who love her in return.

“She doesn’t just want that,” Edward mutters. Jasper side-eyes his brother, but Edward – as socially inept as always – barrels onwards. “She wants a human girl to spoil. She wants her to be happier at the prospect of joining us. If we managed to integrate her father before she arrived, Alice is certain she’d stay.”

“Who are you talking about?” Rosalie demands answers, glaring. Her fear mounts up and Jasper wants to send her a wave of calm, but he doesn’t; Rosalie has asked him not to do that anymore. “Alice!”

“Calm down, Rosalie,” she waves at their sister lazily, still smiling. Jasper glances Edward’s way when he senses his amusement spiralling; apparently, there’s another little joke going on between his wife and brother. He wonders if it’s to do with Rosalie.

“I don’t want another father-figure,” said blonde proclaims in anger, turning around and stomping away. Emmett follows, of course. They’re attached to the hip – worse than Jasper and Alice. At least _they_ spend time away from each other.

“You’re not as connected as they are,” Edward says. Jasper looks at his brother, clearly telling him to fuck off in his head. Edward, of course, picks and chooses what he acknowledges. “They revolve around each other. Your relationship can’t compare to theirs.”

At his side, Alice stirs in primal rage and Jasper honestly cannot decide whether to threaten his brother or laugh. So instead, he tries to get a point across using words. “They’re mates. We’re mates – but not every relationship is the same. We’re different people, so we have different expressions of love.”

Edward does not blink. _Creepy little shit_, Jasper thinks in fond exasperation.

“Don’t question our marriage, Edward,” says Alice, growling low in her throat. Edward tenses automatically, unable to ignore his vampiric instincts and Jasper rubs Alice’s back again. His wife cannot be bothered with niceties when it comes to defending him – she never does.

“…you’re strange,” Edward says, before fleeing out their window. Not having realised his thirst was Edward’s, Jasper manages to relax a little more, the urge to feed fading as Edward gets further out of range.

Alice sighs, flopping over his lap, face crushed against a pillow. “I want my friend to get here.”

“I know, darlin’ – you’re just going to have to be patient for a little longer,” Jasper says soothingly. The awe he holds for her that never gets old hits him pretty hard, then, watching her lay herself out over him so casually, mind awhirl with possibilities. He leans down to kiss between her shoulders, that are laid bare by her tank top. “I love you,” he says teasingly, meaning it wholeheartedly.

_“I love you,”_ Alice says, voice muffled by the cushion. Jasper relishes their closeness, feeling Rosalie calm as Emmett starts to jabber on about their next honeymoon; it seems they’ll be going to Japan, this time.

“We should take a holiday,” Jasper muses, inspired. “How about we go visit your friends in Greece?”

Alice huffs, twisting her head back around to mock-glare at him. “Cassandra isn’t real, Jasper – or the Oracle of Delphi.”

“I was talking about Frida and Garcia,” he replies, to which she rolls her eyes. “Though, considering their powers, they might as well be Cassandra and the Oracle.”

“Shh,” Alice says, reaching to press her finger to his lips. She stares into the middle-distance and Jasper only knows she’s faking because of how familiar with her power he is. “I see you giving me a gift,” she proclaims.

“What kind of gift? Shoes, perhaps?” Jasper plays along.

“Mmm.” She actually does go into a little of a daze at that, imagining what must be the heels she’d been eyeing on a billboard when they were shopping in Seattle. Jasper catches the stillness to her for a moment before she smiles, scrambling up to sit on his lap, kissing him sweetly. “You know me so well.”

_I was right, then._ “Anything for you, Alice,” he promises.

Her forehead presses against his own. He feels the love radiating off of her. She doesn’t have to say anything as they wrap each other in an intimate embrace, the silence comfortable and soothing.

_And it helps,_ Jasper thinks to himself, _that Edward isn’t here to read our minds and interrupt._

“…I’m really looking forwards to this future, Jas.”

“I’m sure you are – I can’t wait to see what’s making you so happy, sweetheart.”

Alice kisses his forehead, then his nose and then his lips, kissing him gently before replying, twinkle in her eyes.

“Let’s hope Charlie Swan is up for the challenge.”


End file.
